Have yourself a Merry little Christmas
by writingcreature
Summary: One Shot - One day before Christmas. After a quarrel with Sam an embittered Dean ends up in a shabby motel room, drunk and wounded due to a fight he had in a bar ...


**Author: **writingcreature

**Disclaimer:** The rights of the series Supernatural belong to CW. I don't owe nothing. I'm just writing for the delight of the fans.

**Have yourself a Merry little Christmas …**

There he sat in his cheap and filthy motel room. The cold ate itself it by his maltreated body and he coughed his lungs out. The air conditioner in this hovel blew a mild breeze into the air, no chance, that, today, it still would get warm at all, anyway.

"Well this is your own fault shitface," he scolded himself, "why didn't you choose the Ritz Carlton instead?"

In his condition they wouldn't have let him enter even the entrance hall. Alone the guy with the fart face who stood behind the counter of this shabby motel had looked at him as if he had fallen just out of the sky. He basically was not wrong even. Dean Winchester had got drunk after an intense quarrel with his brother in a bar up to unconsciousness. And because his pain still was not eased, he'd stated quarrel with the Hells Angels. No, not the demons. He was talking about the gentlemen who rode these elegant motorcycles. And if they wouldn't have considered him dead and put his maltreated body into a garbage can... Thank God they had not known which car belonged to him.

Dean Winchester, king of assholes, had screwed it up once more. He twisted painfully the face when he shrugged out of his jacket or what's left of it. The dim light at the bedside table illuminated the room only scantily. After all, better than the neon lights at the ceiling. Their gleam of light spread the charm of a morgue. He had to push himself up from the table with both hands. The guys had done a really good job on him.

He dragged himself into the bathroom and turned on the shower. At least the water shot boiling hot from the showerhead. He dropped he clothes just where he stood.

Dean leant its forehead against the tiled wall. The steaming water on his maltreated body felt like tens of thousands small pinpricks. His tense muscles nevertheless began to relax. He put the head in the neck and let his mouth fill with water that he spit out immediately. It was colored as red as the liquid which had collected on the ground and flowed into the sinks direction. With the time it got, however, brighter and brighter. Unfortunately his mood didn't change in the same way, he still felt empty inside.

What had this silly quarrel been about actually? He racked his partly in alcohol drained brain. What caused him nausea or did this come from the many blows he'd just received in his stomach?

Dean turned the water off and reached for the towel which could smoothly be compared with sand paper. First he rubbed his hair dry and then he wrapped the towel around his hips. He did not feel the cold at the moment; his body was too heated up by the shower. In addition, he did not care. He got a nasty cold anyway.

"Anything that doesn't kill Dean Winchester will make Dean Winchester stronger," he muttered.

Then he fidgeted around with the regulator of the air conditioner. He was lucky, it started. However, groaned at least like him.

He went over to his bag to get himself some cloths. How he had cursed Sam for this when they had sat in the launderette two hours and had watched the laundry turning around instead of watching a movie in a motel room. Now he was thankful to Sam.

He put on some Jeans, torn open at the knees and a flannel shirt and dropped onto the bed; He snatched the remote control from the night stand and switched on the TV.

"Scrap, shit, I already know it by heart, I do not like it," he commented while he zapped through the channels.

Channel hopping also a kind of sport. Suddenly he remembered what this stupid quarrel was about. It felt like the fog in his brain lifted.

Tomorrow was December 24th. Sam really had wanted to go to Lawrence. To visit her mother's grave. He, Dean, had found it stupid to drive there. What should they do at a grave with an empty coffin inside? What should Sam do there? What sense would it make to take a look at their old house? It was not their house any more for quite a long time now. But Sam had insisted on it, however.

He always got sentimental every year around this time. Screw you! Dean reached for the bottle of beer, he'd put on the bedside table and opened it.

"Sam, you already are on your way to Kansas. Merry Christmas brother."

He took a big gulp, "ah, excellent."

"What the hell do you want to prove, son?"

"Dad? Dad?!"

Dean tore up his eyes. His father suddenly sat at the foot of the bed.

"Why don't you simply pick up the phone, call Sam and apologize to him?"

"Dad is it really you? How could that be?"

"Of course it's not me, you fantasize. You have a temperature."

"Then its okay with me", Dean mumbled, "cause I don't have to give a fuck about what you say."

"That's not right", his father objected, "I know, it was not fair to leave you alone. But I did not have another choice."

"Well, you're not starting to this bullshit about you can't let me die etc. again, aren't you? My God, I'm so sick and tired of this crap, I don't wanna hear about it. Look at me. I'd been to hell and it seems they didn't want me around. Now I'm back. It wouldn't have been necessary to sacrifice you for me. Don't think I admire you for what you've done at that time," he spat out the last few words.

A thick knot formed in the pit of Dean's stomach and tears welled up his eyes. He grimaced and swallowed hard a few times.

"I thought after you have completed the deal with the Crossroad demon for Sam, you would have a better understanding for my situation," his father said.

"This was something completely different," Dean hissed and knew at the same time that this was balderdash.

"You can lie to yourself for the rest of your life but it wouldn't make a difference my son", he gave a loud sigh.

Dean furiously emptied the bottle and indicated his father, "What do you want me to do Dad? Do you want go guilt trip me because I have let poor little Sammy go alone to Lawrence? When I was in hell, he was all alone for six months. No, oops, wrong, he had this demon bride on his side. He always had a peculiar taste concerning women."

"It does not suit you if you are so cynical."

Dean tore up the eyes once more; his mother sat on the bed with him now, too.

"Hallelujah", he hollered out and threw the empty bottle of beer straight across the room. It burst on the opposite wall, "do we have a family reunion tonight? If I had known this, I would have bought a tux or a smoking."

"Dean, don't you think your behavior is kinda childish?" his mother asked, "your father is right, you should call your brother and ask him for excuse."

"Great. Pick on me, c'mon. Seems I earn it. I am the biggest asshole of the universe; even hell spat me out again."

Dean's eyes sparkled with rage, "Unfortunately it's too late to play parents. You really screwed it up. I would like you to disappear. You are not real, anyway. Hit the road; leave me the hell alone, like you always did. I don't need you, I don't need Sam, I don't need anybody."

He shouted so loudly that the neighbor of the adjoining room knocked at the wall furiously, "just shut the fuck up you asshole!"

"You're an asshole yourself Mister," Dean called over his shoulder.

When he turned his head, his parents had disappeared. The television set also was off. He probably hit the remote control.

Now there he sat, all alone in his misery. The bitterness ate itself by his body like cancer. His stomach turned, he hardly made it to the toilet where he threw up a few times intensely. At one point he was totally exhausted and fell asleep on the cold tiled floor.

#####

Sam sat on the visitor chair of the hospital and watched his sleeping brother. He had found Dean unconscious in the bathroom of a doss house. His maltreated body had glowed. He stank from alcohol and puke. Sam had put him under the shower briefly, then put him into bed and called a doctor. This one then had immediately alerted an ambulance.

Sam did not know what made him turning back and he still less knew how he had worked to find Dean at all. It seemed to him as if a supernatural power had escorted him. It occurred to him that he had seen a bright star in the sky. Yes of course, Bethlehem, the star.

"Nonsense," he rejected the thought immediately. He glanced at the clock over the door; shortly after 6pm.

Dean had not woken up any more since he had found him in the motel yesterday. He looked really messed up, no miracle. The man in the bar had told him that Dean had been totally drunk and got in a fight with some real tough bikers.

Sam ran his hand tiredly over the face, he shouldn't have insisted on driving home to Lawrence. What the hell came over him? What had he hoped for? He did not know it. But didn't everybody have the right to feel homesickness for once in a while? Dean could not understand it, did not want to understand it. His older brother was a master of suppression. Up till now he'd only told him fractions about his experiences down there with the archfiend.

And that's exactly what ate him up inside. Sam would have wanted nothing more ardently that Dean would have revealed himself to him. He was not the wimp his brother still considered him though he did not admit it.

"Those who are vulnerable should not attack others." Sam thought, he'd also not been telling the truth to Dean about everything.

For a good reason, he had discovered a side of him which had given him the creeps, too. But he had learned to live with that. He had to while he was out there on his own, completely.

"You would not have had to do this for me," Sam whispered, "you would not have had to go through hell, I have not earned this. Why couldn't you let me die, Dean?"

A tear stole itself from his eye, fast he wiped it away with the back of the hand.

"I wish we could talk with each other like before," he continued with a suffocated voice, "I wish you would not have these nightmares. Oh, God, Dean, I always will be there for you, why aren't you talking to me? I am sorry that I was so stubborn yesterday. Please forgive me. I wanted nothing else but home even if it …"

Dean's eyelids started to flutter. His body felt numb. Where was he? Another hallucination? Who cried next to him? His brain needed some minutes until it had processed all impressions. Then he knew where he was: in a hospital. He hated the smell.

Only with great effort he succeeded to turn his head. Completely baffled he discovered Sam besides him. He had hidden his face behind both hands, his shoulders twitched.

"Sammy? Sammy, is it really you?" Dean croaked.

Sam's head jerked up. When he saw that his brother had woken up, his face brightened up presently.

Dean gave him a weak smile, "do they have drinks in here? I am dried up like the desert Sahara."

"They only have water, no alcohol dude, sorry," Sam smiled and reached for the cup with the straw, the nurse had him brought before and held it to Dean's mouth.

Dean took two sips and closed his eyes gratefully.

Sam put the cup aside and took his brother's hand, "promise me not to play Kamikaze again."

"Kamikaze? We had this anyway, I am a Ninja," Dean kidded around.

"Then you're a miserable Ninja, however. You scared the shit of me, dude."

"If you press more tightly, this hand would also be a case for the doctor."

"Sorry", Sam loosened his grip.

"How have you found me at all?"

Sam drew in a breath and let it out slowly, "if I tell you there was a really bright star on the nightly sky which I have followed, would you consider me nuts?"

"If I tell you that mum and dad have sat on my bed and lectured me in this motel room, would you consider me nuts?"

They remained silent for a while.

"Sammy I'm sorry I behaved like an asshole and ..."

"No, I am sorry, Dean. I just wanted, uhm, I do not know ..."

"You wanted a little familiarity, isn't that right? Getting back a piece from the past? Like me, sometimes I wish I could turn back time, believe me. . and as I saw mum and dad in front of me ..." his voice trailed off.

As Sam looked at his brother he suddenly saw little Dean in front of him who bravely fought back the tears because he really had to be strong for his younger brother.

"In the past, I have often imagined mum would watch over us from wherever she may be," Sam said, "and if I was desperate and lost I thought I could feel her embrace and how she's comforting me."

He could feel that Dean's grip got tighter.

"Sammy, I am glad that you came back. I was afraid I would have to spend Christmas all by myself and guess what it just felt wrong. After everything we have been through." He swallowed hard. Sam watched a tear running from the corner of Deans eye, "I don't wanna loose you, too little brother."

"You won't. We are a family or what's been left of it. But I tell you one thing, next time you're about kicking my ass; I'll remember you at what you said tonight. Cross my heart."

Both started to laugh and then they heard that song, sang by so many people all around the world around Christmas, "Silent night, Holy night,"

"Merry Christmas, Dean."

"Merry Christmas, Sammy."

**THE END**


End file.
